Inception of Piracy Chapter 3
3
Aaahhh...rreeeech!! Giovanni awoke with a start, a foul smelling, heavy liquid splashing on his face. Huuuhh....hhuuhhh....hhuurreeeeeech! He shook his head, taking a moment to orient himself. The man above him was leaning over his hammock, mouth wide, eyes tightly shut, strings of drool and vomit hanging from his lips and jaw. Giovanni tried to jump out of his hammock, but succeeded only in rolling heavily onto the floor. He quickly scrambled away from the seasick man, wiping his face with his sleeve. Still disoriented, he stood up too quickly in the cramped space and knocked his head on a deck beam. He grunted and dropped to one knee, rubbing his head. The nightmare that had become his life came roaring back to him. It was dark in the fo’c’sle but after getting his bearings, he felt his way to the ladder and made his way onto the deck.
“Boy, that’s awful!” stated a sailor near the rail, his face twisted in disgust. “Go wash up!” He pointed to a barrel near the mainmast. Giovanni wearily made his way to the cask and splashed the cold seawater on his face and then his shirt. He looked around the deck. Only a few sailors were about, there didn't seem to be much to do. The wind blew lightly but steadily over the quarter and the sea bubbled along the side. He sighed and leaned over the leeward rail. In the distance he could see an occasional light on the shore. Looking up he quickly oriented himself by the stars and ascertained they were heading north by northeast. He guessed they would soon be in the North Sea and turning south along the coast to the channel. He gazed down at the water. They were not going fast enough to make much of a wake, the captain was a cautious one, only topsails, a jib and spanker set in the dark.
He took a deep breath of the clear night air. He could recall many times on his father’s ship leaning over the rail on the quarterdeck, watching the waves or the stars, learning to read the weather and current, his father explaining it all. He had learned to use the astrolabe and quarterstaff, estimate speed and leeway, to find their position. He smelled the air again. He guessed they would have clear sailing for a while longer. He wondered what time it was and how soon his watch would be required on deck. But he didn’t even consider going to the quarterdeck to find out. It may have been familiar to him on his father’s ship but he knew that as a ‘boy’, and a supposedly unseasoned landsman, the quarterdeck was off limits unless invited; certainly unlikely in his present circumstance. He watched a light go by on shore as the ship gently rolled along in the swell.
He was startled out of his daydreaming by the clang of the ship’s bell. He counted the rings, eight bells. It was midnight, time for his watch, the starboard one, to be on duty. He heard rustling down the open hatch to the fo’c’sle and the murmur of the first mate giving the second the watch's orders and handing him the board.
“Hey Bartolli,” yawned Sam as he walked by on his way below. “Not too bad yet, quiet night...what’s that smell? Have a good night Dillon.”
“Thanks Sam,” Will chirped as he joined Giovanni at the rail. “Whew, I’m glad to be up ‘ere,” he began, shaking his head “Ol’ Burkett’s been sick all night and it smells even worse down there than before.” Giovanni just shook his head. Will continued, “Can’t blame ‘im though, been a farmer all his life, never even seen the sea ‘til last week. Came to town to look after his aunt an’ look where ‘e ends up.”
“All hands aft!” came the call from the quarterdeck. The men moved toward the stern and the second mate came to the rail. He was thin, of medium height with long, dark hair flowing out from under his hat. The light from the binnacle illuminated him from behind and while Giovanni couldn’t see his face, his voice betrayed his youth.
“Men, looks like we’re going to have an easy night of it. Wind’s good, I doubt we’ll get far enough for a course change. Keep a weather eye but we should have a good run. Mr. Ingram and Mr. Murray will give you your assignments. Dismissed.”
Ingram made his way down the steps to the group around Giovanni. He was stocky with fair hair and a face like a bulldog.
“Mr. Davenport, take this man,” he pointed to Will and paused.
“Oh..Will...Dillon sir.”
“..Mr. Dillon up with you and take the first lookout.” The two men headed for the foremast ratlins.
“Mr. Sayer,” continued Ingram. “You will take these two men..” He pointed to Giovanni and a short, wisp of a man with a hooked nose he recognized from the longboat trip.
“Martin sir,” he said in a high, almost squeaky voice. Ingram looked at Giovanni.
“Bartolli...sir,” he offered quietly.
“Martin and Bartolli, and instruct them on the use of the log.”
“Yes sir,” saluted Sayer, who then turned to Giovanni and Martin. “Come on boys, let’s go.” He marched to the quarterdeck, his long legs covering the distance quickly. Bartolli noticed his trim figure, not broad at the shoulder with a neck longer than most. His light hair was tied in two long braids that swung across his back as he walked. Soon they were at the stern rail. Giovanni saw the triangular piece of wood dangling from the long roll of thin rope tied to the rail. Sayer quickly untied it and handed it to Giovanni.
“Hold the handles here, let the line out over the top. Brace your feet, it pulls hard. Martin,” he handed him the triangular piece of wood. “Drop this over the stern and then hold the line loosely. As it goes out, count the knots until I say stop. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” squeaked Martin, Giovanni nodded. He had done this hundreds of times before. He held the handles loosely as Martin took out some slack and leaned over the taffrail. He dropped the board and it began to float away. Sayer turned the glass. The wood pulled gently on the roll in his hands and Martin grabbed the rope.
“Not too hard,” directed Sayer. Martin loosened his grip, letting the rope slide through his hands. Giovanni unconsciously counted the knots. “Mark!” said Sayer. Giovanni gripped the handles, preventing any more line from going out.
“Grab the rope Martin!” he ordered and Martin clenched down hard, grimacing as the rope tried to pull through his hands. They were probably just as sore and blistered as his, thought Giovanni. “How many knots Mr. Martin?”
“Uh.....three....I think,” he stated hesitatingly. Giovanni knew it was five and a half.
“I believe we are going a little faster than that, Mr. Martin. Mr. Bartolli, if you would roll it back up, Mr. Martin, pull it in and we’ll try again. Giovanni rolled it up carefully so it would go out smoothly the next time. Sayer noticed.
“Very good, Mr. Bartolli, it almost looks like you’ve done this before.” Giovanni smiled weakly and nodded. “Don’t talk much, do you Bartolli. Now boys, let's try this again. Mr. Martin, please pay attention this time.”
“Yes sir,” Martin replied sheepishly. He let the board down into the water and loosely grabbed the rope. Sayer turned the glass.
“Good, keep count Mr. Martin.” The board continued the float away. Giovanni could see Martin’s lips move as he counted. “Mark!” Everything stopped. “How many Mr. Martin?”
Martin hesitated. “Uh...Five?”
“Yes, Mr. Martin but you also have to estimate the remainder. Look at the line, how much more until the sixth knot?”
Martin looked at the line in his hands and then over the rail. “Looks like ‘bout half to me, Mr. Sayer.”
“I agree,” he stated, turning to the second mate, a few yards behind them standing next to the helmsman, his hands clasped behind his back. “Mr. Hanwell, five and a half, by the board!”
“Thank you Mr. Sayer,” he replied lazily. Another sailor wrote it down on a board.
“Reel it in boys, tie it up and come back to the waist.” Giovanni began rolling, watching Sayer head amidships and begin talking to Ingram.
“That wasn’t too bad, eh boy?” whispered Martin. “Considering all we’ve been through.”
“Yes, not too bad,” he replied flatly. He finished rolling it up and tied it in it’s place on the rail. They left the holy quarterdeck and headed in Ingram’s direction.
Sayer left Ingram and approached them. “Boys, looks like a soft number tonight. At two bells you will take your turn at the pump. Other than that, not much to do for now.” He winked at them. “Don’t think this is the usual in Her Majesty’s navy but with a fine breeze and no course change, not much to do tonight. But that can change. Jus’ don’t cock up.” He turned and went back to talk to Ingram. Giovanni made his way over to the windward rail. He leaned over and looked at the water.
“Beautiful night, don’t you think?” Giovanni looked to see Matthews taking a position at the rail next to him. Giovanni smiled and nodded.
“Nice t’ get a break. Been a tough day..” They both turned back to the water and relaxed at the rail.
“Lazy sons of a whore!” They both spun around to see the bos’un standing over them, knotted rope tight in his hands. His eyes flashed at Giovanni, then Matthews. “Are you a lord on a cruise?” He came right up to Giovanni. “Are you?!” he bellowed.
Anger rose up in Giovanni, displacing his fear. He straightened up. “No...sir.” he spat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthews’ eyes widen.
“Aye, so that’s the way it is,” he growled. “I had you pegged for a bad hat the moment you came on board!” He grabbed Giovanni by the neck with his huge hands and threw him to the deck. “To the pump boys!” he bellowed, grabbing Matthews by the arm and half leading, half dragging him across the deck. Arriving at the pump, he ordered two of the other men off and pointed to the handle. Giovanni and Matthews grabbed the bar and began pushing.
“Put some muscle into it boy!” Giovanni felt the knotted rope across his back. He fell across the bar with a grunt. “Her Majesty’s navy is a place where every man pulls his weight or suffers the consequences! Now stay on that pump until I tell you otherwise.” He hissed. Then he was gone. Giovanni began pumping again, seething. He soon heard the bos’un tormenting some other unfortunate sailor. The blisters on his hands quickly reopened and his shoulders were still sore. Up and down went the bar. Two bells, then three and still they were stuck at the pump. Half way through the next bell, the pump finally went dry.
“All right boys, take a break,” said Ingram as he walked by. Giovanni and Matthews collapsed on the deck.
“'ad a rough time time of it lads?” asked Will, helping Matthews up first, then Giovanni.
“Aye, I do believe that bos’un has it in for us,” stated Matthews, hands on his knees gasping for breath.
“Ah, I don’t know ‘bout that. I think he 'ates everybody,” whispered Will, smiling.
“Men, stay off the pump for now, chips has got to rebuild it first thing in the morning,” said Murray, coming up behind them and placing a hand on Matthews’ back. “Should be pumping out a lot better than that.”
Giovanni looked around for the bos’un. He had a feeling if he stopped for a moment, he would be beaten again.
“I saw the bos’un go below,” Will stated quietly. Murray left them to themselves.
“How many bells Will?” breathed Matthews.
“Five, I think. Watch is more ‘an 'alf over.”
Giovanni left the group and sat down against the foremast. He was exhausted but his blood was boiling. Two days ago he was the privileged son of a wealthy Genoan merchant. Now he was just a landsman under the thumb of a sadistic bos’un on a cruise of unknown duration. Part of him knew he should just lay low, try to make it through as best he could and in a year or two, if he was lucky, make his way back to Genoa. He put his head in his hands. He missed his father, his mother, his two sisters, his home. He missed the freedom he always felt at sea, a desirable vocation that had now become a prison. He was angry at that, he was angry at the way he’d been treated, he was angry at the English in general for being so cruel and callous.
“You all right Bartolli?” Will came and sat down with him.
“No, I’m not. I’ve spent most of my life on ships Will, I’ve never seen one run like this. I’ve never seen a bos’un so quick to strike. I’ve never seen men taken from their homes and forced onto a ship against their will. Genoa was much more peaceful.”
“Genoa 'asn’t known the war we 'ave...desperate times, desperate measures. Without the bos’un or the captain 'forcing discipline an’ keeping all these men in line, there would be a mutiny every day, there would be no navy an'....no England. I don’t like bein' pressed any more than the next man, I’ve got a wife and chil'ren jus’ like mos' but I know that we serve the queen and England.”
“Sorry Will, I don’t feel it....I’m not English.”
“I know, t'was a bad break for you. It’s not forever, the war isn’t going to last much longer.”
“I don’t know how long I can suffer like this at their hands.”
“Aye, all of us feel that way sometimes, but don’t defy the bos’un again, Matthews told me what 'appened earlier. He’s not out fer you, but ‘e won’t take kindly to any form of defiance or what ‘e perceives as insubordination....especially from the likes of us pressed men. To ‘im, we are tough clay to be molded into seamen and if that requires the cat, ‘e won’t hesitate.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Aye, so you ‘ave. It won’t always be like this. Learn your duty, obey the orders quick like and stay out of trouble an' the cat will be far from you. And if we take a fat prize or two, there’s the money..”
“Will, I’ve commanded ships before, I’ve been at sea since...before I could walk. I know every job, every knot, I can hand, reef and steer with the best of them. I’ve known wealth...it’s waiting for me back in Genoa...my father’s waiting for me...and he’ll never know what happened to me if something goes wrong.”
“I understand.” He was quiet for a moment. “Some of us exchange letters to family, you know, in case something 'appens. I’d be 'appy to take one fer you and see it gets sent to Genoa..... Jus' need to find someone that writes Italian...”
Giovanni smiled weakly and Will elbowed him in jest.
“I’d just a soon take this leaky tub and sail to Genoa myself.”
“Keep a lid on that my boy, I know you didn’t mean nothin’ by it but some might think such words mutinous. The cat will be the least of your worries then.”
Giovanni just shook his head and put his face in his hands. Will looked at him sadly and got up. He could think of nothing more to say so he patted him on the shoulder and Giovanni soon heard him talking quietly to Matthews at the rail.
The bell woke him from his stupor. He counted...seven, his watch was nearly over. His legs were sore from sitting on the hard wood of the deck; he got up and stretched. He looked around. Will and Matthews were nearby sitting on a coil of rope. He couldn’t tell if they were asleep or not but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation so he wasn’t about to go over and see. He walked over to the water barrel and grabbed the ladle. A large hairy hand grabbed his arm as he was bringing the water up.
“An’ wot work ‘ave ye done ta deserve a drink, boy!” The voice was low and threatening. It was one of the seamen he had seen often in the bos’un’s presence. He was slightly taller than Giovanni, built like a bear and almost as hairy. His gray hair betrayed his age. His weathered face looked like it had seen many a fight and even in the dim light, his icy blue eyes were cold and mean. “Some of us gotta work this tub all watch,” he snarled, grabbing the ladle and pushing him from the barrel. “Go back to yer corner ya worthless scrub!” The man splashed his face, took a sip and put the top back on the barrel. “Don’t let me see ya anywheres near the adam’s ale tonight boy!” He tuned and left.
Giovanni backed up and went back to his spot near the mast. If it wasn’t for Will and Matthews he could easily develop a deep hatred for all Englishmen. Sure, he had seen cruel men before, the times he lived in still bred them. But Genoa was civilized, such men were the exception, here they seemed to be the rule. He looked up at the stars, past the billowing sails and the men aloft. He sighed. He had felt such pride when his father entrusted him with this mission to England, it could have brought so much prosperity to his family. But he had failed miserably. Damn English and their wars and their press and their navy. He clenched his fists in anger, glaring at the quarterdeck where the first mate in his spotless uniform had come up to get the report of the watch. The bell rang eight times, his watch was over. He saw Will and Matthews get up from their comfortable position and head to the hatch. He followed.
“Four hours of sleep my boy, then we do it again,” said Will, directing Giovanni down the hatch ahead of him. Giovanni didn’t reply. “Been rough on 'im,” he whispered to Matthews.
Giovanni made his way in the darkness to his hammock. Someone had a made a feeble attempt to clean the vomit from it but it was still damp and it reeked. He climbed in, putting his head at the other end. The close, moist air was suffocating but he was too tired to care. He was asleep in moments.
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“Bartolli, wake up!” Giovanni reached though the fog of his exhaustion to see Matthews bending over him. “Come on, you’ll miss breakfast!” The pit in Giovanni’s stomach reminded him it had been a while since he’d eaten. He crawled out of his hammock and followed Matthews to the gun deck. There were about fifty men crowded in the room that went from the fo’c’sle to the captain’s cabin in the stern. Cannons lined the sides and men were sitting on them with square plates covered with some kind of meat in gravy. A light smoke from the galley filled the room and wafted out of the gunports.
“Salt pork this morning,” said one of the men, handing him a plate. He was the one Giovanni had remembered going over the side to escape on the way in. The discolored bruise on his forehead remained from where the oar had struck. “Don’t look like much, ol’ stuff gettin’ used up but the gravy makes it edible.” He handed him a piece of hardtack to go with it. “Dip it in the gravy or some water to soften it up,” he directed, then he left to give another man his ration. Giovanni looked over at Matthews whose pork peeked out from under the gravy with green slime on the edges. Fortunately, his looked better. He dipped his hardtack in the gravy and let it soak.
“Looks worse than the dried pork we gnawed on at the end of winter back on the farm,” said Matthews, gazing at his plate. Giovanni grunted in agreement. His voyages had always been of short enough duration to have fresh supplies. And his father was known for taking good care of his ships and sailors. A shuffling in front of him took his attention from his food. A large hairy hand grabbed his salt pork.
“How’d you get such a piece, scrub?!” he demanded. It was the same surly sailor from the water barrel. “I say we trade,” he snarled, slapping a half eaten piece of green slime covered meat on his plate. He took a huge bite of Giovanni’s pork. “Mmmmm.” Giovanni glared up at him. His face hardened even more and he hit Giovanni’s plate out his his hands. He brought a large, hairy fist up in Giovanni's face. “Got a problem with trading?” Giovanni just glared at him and then reached down to pick up his plate and biscuit. “I didn’t think so.” He took another bite. “Save the good food fer men that work,” he laughed and then he was gone.
Matthews was quietly gnawing on his pork, ignoring the scene as much as he could. Giovanni bit hard into the biscuit. It crumbled in his mouth but it was a few minutes until it was soft enough to chew and swallow.
“Dugal,” came a voice from his left. Giovanni looked over to see a short, thin man, young like him with a fleshy face and deep set brown eyes. His sandy hair fell in his face. “Dugal’s his name. Bos’un’s brother-in-law. Been shipped together twice now. Shonkeys, both of ‘em. Best to stay away from ‘em as much as you can.”
Giovanni dropped his head, slowly chewing his hardtack. It was doing little to fill the pit in his stomach or undo the knot his anger had placed there. The ringing of the bell interrupted his thoughts.
“Starboard watch on deck...Now!” He recognized Ingram's voice. All the men got up and scrambled up the ladders, stuffing the last bit of food they could in their mouths or pockets. Orders were already being shouted from the quarterdeck Giovanni emerged from the hatch, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.
“Man the braces, prepare to ware ship!” Giovanni immediately noticed that the wind had shifted and they were now sailing close hauled. The breeze was still light enough not to heel the ship much so he hadn’t noticed the change below.
“Helms over! Haul up the mizzen!” Giovanni saw men working around the mizzen mast, pulling on lines while others fairly ran aloft to tie up the sail. “Ease the mainsheet!” The ship was beginning to turn.
“You men, grab the main brace and wait for the command.” Sayer was pointing at Giovanni, Matthews and another man with them.
“Over here!” directed the other man, leading them to the rail. He uncleated a thick line from the pinrail and handed it to them. “Be ready, I’ll let you know,” he directed, looking back over his broad shoulder, the muscles under his heavily tattooed arms flexing as he took up the strain.
“Let go the bowlines!” came the command. The rattling of blocks followed as sails changed their orientation to the wind. “Raise the main tack! Haul the weather braces!”
“Now!” directed the man and they hauled, pulling the line back along the deck. “Heave!” They pulled even harder. “Avast...Hold it!” he said and they stood there holding the taught line. Giovanni watched as the jib sheets were passed through and the mizzen reset. His muscles were beginning to tremble as the ship fell onto it’s new tack. “Square up!”
“Haul a little more boys,” said the man, pulling on the line. A few more yanks and he cleated it off. They all caught their breath a moment. “Now, coil this line and all the ones on the larboard side, neatly.” He gave a short demonstration and left. Giovanni and Matthews began coiling line.
“Sorry about earlier,” Matthews offered. “At breakfast, I mean.”
“Don’t concern yourself with it. It wasn’t your fault.” Giovanni knew he was on his own, he didn’t expect anyone to stand up for him. He put down another coil of line. “Some men are just cruel.”
“Yes, I would agree,” replied Matthews. He placed his coil on the pin. “I wonder, are they born that way or does some unfortunate event make them so?”
“Oh, I think it’s some defect of the brain,” replied Giovanni, smiling. Matthews chuckled.
“Having a good time boys?” Giovanni didn’t even look up, he knew who it was. “Yer work’s very sloppy..” Giovanni looked back and saw that Dugal had kicked all his neat coils of line into a tangled mess. Giovanni took a deep breath and stood up, his eyes piercing.
“Papal scum,” he muttered. “Do it again!” He shoved Giovanni roughly, causing him to trip over one of the tangled coils. He fell heavily to the deck. Dugal was laughing as Giovanni grabbed the rail and stood up. He had had enough, his honor and his person had been insulted one time too many. He grabbed a belaying pin from the pinrail and lunged at Dugal, connecting with the side of his face, stunning him. He went to swing again when a powerful hand grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was the bos’un, who hit him hard in the stomach before he could react.
“What is going on here?!” demanded Mr. Rooke in his booming voice. He had left the quarterdeck and was approaching with long strides. Giovanni was bent over, gasping from the unexpected blow, belaying pin still in his hand.
“This boy attacked Dugal with a belaying pin!” accused the bos’un.
“Aye, I was jus’ showin’ ‘im how to coil line the right way..” pleaded Dugal. Blood was flowing from below his left eye.
“Go see the surgeon about that cut Dugal,” ordered Rooke. “As for you boy, I will not tolerate this kind of behavior on this ship. One of you men always has to test the discipline aboard and I will make an example of you to make sure it does not happen again. Secure him to the grate!”
“Yes sir!” replied the bos’un enthusiastically. He and another sailor grabbed him roughly, prying the pin from his hand. They drug him across the deck while two other men set a grate up against the mast.
“Mr. Ingram!” yelled Rooke, adjusting his spotless blue coat.
“Sir?” he replied, hurrying to his side.
“Call all hands to witness punishment.”
“Yes sir!” He turned amidships. “All hands to witness punishment!”
As they tied his wrists to the grate, the rest of the crew assembled in the waist. The first mate had returned to the quarterdeck and was talking to the captain. He nodded several times and then approached the rail.
“Men,” began Littlewort in that high, shrill, grating voice of his. “Discipline and restraint are a must on a ship. Those of you who have recently joined our crew need to understand that any behavior that detracts from the smooth running of this vessel will be swiftly addressed. This man was the first. I expect him to be the last!” He nodded to the first mate.
Rooke straightened and brought a document up in front of him. “Article of War, section 22. 'If any person in the fleet shall quarrel or fight with any other person in the fleet, or use reproachful or provoking speeches or gestures, tending to make any quarrel or disturbance, he shall, upon being convicted thereof, suffer such punishment as the offense shall deserve, and a court martial shall impose.'”
“25 shall be sufficient.” stated Littlewort, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Hats off.” ordered Rooke, removing his. All the men took off any hats they were wearing and gripped them to their chests. “Twenty-five lashes! Bousun's mate, do your duty.”
“Yes sir!” replied Clay. Suddenly, he was at Giovanni’s ear. “I’ve spilt plenty of papist blood in my time, I’m going to enjoy spilling yours!” he whispered venomously. He ripped the back of Giovanni's shirt open, backed up and cracked the cat against the deck.
“Begin!” ordered Rooke. A second later the cat fell across his back. It stung horribly. After the third strike he cried out, straining at the grate. The cat began to tear at his flesh and he could feel the warm blood starting to run down his back. Clay now paused between each strike to run the cat through his huge hands to remove the blood and flesh. By the tenth he was in agony, every strike like a thousand knives digging into his body.
“Switch!” came the command from Rooke. Giovanni saw Quinn take the cat from Clay, smiling wickedly.
“Continue!” ordered Rooke and a moment later the cat hit his back with enough force to knock the wind out of him. After five more his back was in ribbons. He passed out before the twentieth. He was startled awake by the horrific stinging of salt water on his open back. He screamed. The cat fell two more times. He fell limp against the grate. He didn’t feel the next one. The salt water woke him up again. Two more strikes.
“Twenty-five sir!” called the bos’un.
“Take him below!” The cold salt water hit him again and he struggled against the lashings, writhing in agony. Two men cut him down and he collapsed on the deck. They each grabbed him under his armpits and dragged him across the smooth wood planks. They handed him down through the hatch.
“It’ll be alright Bartolli,” he heard Will say as they laid him on a piece of canvas on the deck.
He could hardly hear anything through the fog of his anguish. He passed out.
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“Giovanni, wake up..” It was a woman’s voice. He stirred slightly in the soft sheets. “It’s time to get up, there’s work to be done.” He began to roll over.....
“Aaaahhh..” He awoke suddenly, a searing pain shooting across his back. He was rudely re-acclimated to his surroundings; the hard deck, the smell of vomit, his back cut to ribbons. He moved back to his stomach, wincing in pain. Every time he thought it couldn’t get any worse.....although unless he was hanged, he figured this was the bottom.
“Bartolli, that you?” It was Matthews voice in the dark. He just grunted.
“Mate says you’re off duty for the rest of the day. Surgeon was up to look at you. Didn’t do nothin’ though. I brought you some hard tack and water from the evening meal.”
“Thank you..” he replied weakly. He felt around until his hand found a biscuit. He could feel the weevils crawling on his fingers. He shook them off and brought it to his mouth. Gnawing off a small piece, he let the saliva in his mouth soften it up.
“Capt’n says we should be arriving on our post tomorrow, next day at latest. Maybe we’ll be lucky and get a prize right off.”
Giovanni knew that was very unlikely but he grunted in agreement, the biscuit melting in his mouth. He heard the bell ring eight times.
“Starboard watch!” came the call from above. He heard the men rousing from their bunks for the night watch.
“Just rest Giovanni, I’ll check on you when I can, me an’ Will.”
Soon the larboard watch came down the steps and climbed in their hammocks. Initially, there was some whispering but the night quickly lulled them to sleep. He listened to the sound of the ship, the creaking of the wood, the bang of the blocks, the faint sound of water along the side. He was soon asleep again.
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Giovanni looked at the paper before him. The surgeon's mate had graciously provided him with paper and ink and although he’d had plenty of time to collect his thoughts, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to write. He dipped the quill and hovered over the paper, laying on his stomach on the floor, each movement of his arm sending a new wave of agony shooting through his back. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. This was his first opportunity to write to his father, to tell him what what going on, although he had his doubts about whether it would ever get there. But it was his only hope. He was comforted by the fact that there would be no one who could translate his words so he was free to express himself, which may be worth it even if the letter never reached it’s destination.
Dearest Father,
I hope my correspondence finds you and mother well. I miss you all very much. I have the unfortunate duty of reporting my abject failure in the task with which I have been entrusted. I was in England only one day when I was robbed and then ‘pressed’, which is the barbaric practice the English engage in by which they take innocent men from whatever task they are found engaged and force them to serve aboard their ships for an indefinite time, giving no regard to their circumstances or nationality. I find myself in such a situation and I have no idea how long I may be so imprisoned.
Although war is a familiar occupation to us, the way the English abuse their own makes much of the barbarity we see practiced on our enemies seem inconsequential by comparison. There appears to be little respect or consideration given to the men and they have no protection or remedy from their ill treatment.
With the exception of a few of the men who have been pressed with me, the English as a whole seem a cold, cruel, dispassionate people, hardly worthy of the civilization or enlightenment they seek to share in. While their navy is strong, it becomes so on the backs of men who have no choice but to serve. Yet the thing that astounds me is the fact that even men so abused feel a sense of duty to King and country and so serve, if not with cheerfulness, then resignation and determination. These are men who may have little or nothing to come back to, men whose wives or children may never know what happened to them, whose livelihood could be lost in their absence, yet they serve and do not revolt.
I say these things not to complain to you for although I suffer greatly, I know that you too have suffered to bring about our prosperity and I will endure my time as you have and emerge stronger. I only do so because although we have had contact with the English for many years, their real character has been laid bare before me and we must take such things into consideration in our dealings with them outside the confines of our home country. Such attitudes toward their countrymen and the culture that creates them will color all they do and we must be wary of their dealings.
I hope the war will soon draw to a close and I will be released from this prison and return to you although I am hesitant to do so in my failure. I only seek to make you proud and I’m afraid I have failed miserably. I will understand your discipline and reproof as I am confident in your affections. I hope to write again with better news.
With love to all,
Giovanni
Aaahhh...rreeeech!! Giovanni awoke with a start, a foul smelling, heavy liquid splashing on his face. Huuuhh....hhuuhhh....hhuurreeeeeech! He shook his head, taking a moment to orient himself. The man above him was leaning over his hammock, mouth wide, eyes tightly shut, strings of drool and vomit hanging from his lips and jaw. Giovanni tried to jump out of his hammock, but succeeded only in rolling heavily onto the floor. He quickly scrambled away from the seasick man, wiping his face with his sleeve. Still disoriented, he stood up too quickly in the cramped space and knocked his head on a deck beam. He grunted and dropped to one knee, rubbing his head. The nightmare that had become his life came roaring back to him. It was dark in the fo’c’sle but after getting his bearings, he felt his way to the ladder and made his way onto the deck.
“Boy, that’s awful!” stated a sailor near the rail, his face twisted in disgust. “Go wash up!” He pointed to a barrel near the mainmast. Giovanni wearily made his way to the cask and splashed the cold seawater on his face and then his shirt. He looked around the deck. Only a few sailors were about, there didn't seem to be much to do. The wind blew lightly but steadily over the quarter and the sea bubbled along the side. He sighed and leaned over the leeward rail. In the distance he could see an occasional light on the shore. Looking up he quickly oriented himself by the stars and ascertained they were heading north by northeast. He guessed they would soon be in the North Sea and turning south along the coast to the channel. He gazed down at the water. They were not going fast enough to make much of a wake, the captain was a cautious one, only topsails, a jib and spanker set in the dark.
He took a deep breath of the clear night air. He could recall many times on his father’s ship leaning over the rail on the quarterdeck, watching the waves or the stars, learning to read the weather and current, his father explaining it all. He had learned to use the astrolabe and quarterstaff, estimate speed and leeway, to find their position. He smelled the air again. He guessed they would have clear sailing for a while longer. He wondered what time it was and how soon his watch would be required on deck. But he didn’t even consider going to the quarterdeck to find out. It may have been familiar to him on his father’s ship but he knew that as a ‘boy’, and a supposedly unseasoned landsman, the quarterdeck was off limits unless invited; certainly unlikely in his present circumstance. He watched a light go by on shore as the ship gently rolled along in the swell.
He was startled out of his daydreaming by the clang of the ship’s bell. He counted the rings, eight bells. It was midnight, time for his watch, the starboard one, to be on duty. He heard rustling down the open hatch to the fo’c’sle and the murmur of the first mate giving the second the watch's orders and handing him the board.
“Hey Bartolli,” yawned Sam as he walked by on his way below. “Not too bad yet, quiet night...what’s that smell? Have a good night Dillon.”
“Thanks Sam,” Will chirped as he joined Giovanni at the rail. “Whew, I’m glad to be up ‘ere,” he began, shaking his head “Ol’ Burkett’s been sick all night and it smells even worse down there than before.” Giovanni just shook his head. Will continued, “Can’t blame ‘im though, been a farmer all his life, never even seen the sea ‘til last week. Came to town to look after his aunt an’ look where ‘e ends up.”
“All hands aft!” came the call from the quarterdeck. The men moved toward the stern and the second mate came to the rail. He was thin, of medium height with long, dark hair flowing out from under his hat. The light from the binnacle illuminated him from behind and while Giovanni couldn’t see his face, his voice betrayed his youth.
“Men, looks like we’re going to have an easy night of it. Wind’s good, I doubt we’ll get far enough for a course change. Keep a weather eye but we should have a good run. Mr. Ingram and Mr. Murray will give you your assignments. Dismissed.”
Ingram made his way down the steps to the group around Giovanni. He was stocky with fair hair and a face like a bulldog.
“Mr. Davenport, take this man,” he pointed to Will and paused.
“Oh..Will...Dillon sir.”
“..Mr. Dillon up with you and take the first lookout.” The two men headed for the foremast ratlins.
“Mr. Sayer,” continued Ingram. “You will take these two men..” He pointed to Giovanni and a short, wisp of a man with a hooked nose he recognized from the longboat trip.
“Martin sir,” he said in a high, almost squeaky voice. Ingram looked at Giovanni.
“Bartolli...sir,” he offered quietly.
“Martin and Bartolli, and instruct them on the use of the log.”
“Yes sir,” saluted Sayer, who then turned to Giovanni and Martin. “Come on boys, let’s go.” He marched to the quarterdeck, his long legs covering the distance quickly. Bartolli noticed his trim figure, not broad at the shoulder with a neck longer than most. His light hair was tied in two long braids that swung across his back as he walked. Soon they were at the stern rail. Giovanni saw the triangular piece of wood dangling from the long roll of thin rope tied to the rail. Sayer quickly untied it and handed it to Giovanni.
“Hold the handles here, let the line out over the top. Brace your feet, it pulls hard. Martin,” he handed him the triangular piece of wood. “Drop this over the stern and then hold the line loosely. As it goes out, count the knots until I say stop. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” squeaked Martin, Giovanni nodded. He had done this hundreds of times before. He held the handles loosely as Martin took out some slack and leaned over the taffrail. He dropped the board and it began to float away. Sayer turned the glass. The wood pulled gently on the roll in his hands and Martin grabbed the rope.
“Not too hard,” directed Sayer. Martin loosened his grip, letting the rope slide through his hands. Giovanni unconsciously counted the knots. “Mark!” said Sayer. Giovanni gripped the handles, preventing any more line from going out.
“Grab the rope Martin!” he ordered and Martin clenched down hard, grimacing as the rope tried to pull through his hands. They were probably just as sore and blistered as his, thought Giovanni. “How many knots Mr. Martin?”
“Uh.....three....I think,” he stated hesitatingly. Giovanni knew it was five and a half.
“I believe we are going a little faster than that, Mr. Martin. Mr. Bartolli, if you would roll it back up, Mr. Martin, pull it in and we’ll try again. Giovanni rolled it up carefully so it would go out smoothly the next time. Sayer noticed.
“Very good, Mr. Bartolli, it almost looks like you’ve done this before.” Giovanni smiled weakly and nodded. “Don’t talk much, do you Bartolli. Now boys, let's try this again. Mr. Martin, please pay attention this time.”
“Yes sir,” Martin replied sheepishly. He let the board down into the water and loosely grabbed the rope. Sayer turned the glass.
“Good, keep count Mr. Martin.” The board continued the float away. Giovanni could see Martin’s lips move as he counted. “Mark!” Everything stopped. “How many Mr. Martin?”
Martin hesitated. “Uh...Five?”
“Yes, Mr. Martin but you also have to estimate the remainder. Look at the line, how much more until the sixth knot?”
Martin looked at the line in his hands and then over the rail. “Looks like ‘bout half to me, Mr. Sayer.”
“I agree,” he stated, turning to the second mate, a few yards behind them standing next to the helmsman, his hands clasped behind his back. “Mr. Hanwell, five and a half, by the board!”
“Thank you Mr. Sayer,” he replied lazily. Another sailor wrote it down on a board.
“Reel it in boys, tie it up and come back to the waist.” Giovanni began rolling, watching Sayer head amidships and begin talking to Ingram.
“That wasn’t too bad, eh boy?” whispered Martin. “Considering all we’ve been through.”
“Yes, not too bad,” he replied flatly. He finished rolling it up and tied it in it’s place on the rail. They left the holy quarterdeck and headed in Ingram’s direction.
Sayer left Ingram and approached them. “Boys, looks like a soft number tonight. At two bells you will take your turn at the pump. Other than that, not much to do for now.” He winked at them. “Don’t think this is the usual in Her Majesty’s navy but with a fine breeze and no course change, not much to do tonight. But that can change. Jus’ don’t cock up.” He turned and went back to talk to Ingram. Giovanni made his way over to the windward rail. He leaned over and looked at the water.
“Beautiful night, don’t you think?” Giovanni looked to see Matthews taking a position at the rail next to him. Giovanni smiled and nodded.
“Nice t’ get a break. Been a tough day..” They both turned back to the water and relaxed at the rail.
“Lazy sons of a whore!” They both spun around to see the bos’un standing over them, knotted rope tight in his hands. His eyes flashed at Giovanni, then Matthews. “Are you a lord on a cruise?” He came right up to Giovanni. “Are you?!” he bellowed.
Anger rose up in Giovanni, displacing his fear. He straightened up. “No...sir.” he spat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthews’ eyes widen.
“Aye, so that’s the way it is,” he growled. “I had you pegged for a bad hat the moment you came on board!” He grabbed Giovanni by the neck with his huge hands and threw him to the deck. “To the pump boys!” he bellowed, grabbing Matthews by the arm and half leading, half dragging him across the deck. Arriving at the pump, he ordered two of the other men off and pointed to the handle. Giovanni and Matthews grabbed the bar and began pushing.
“Put some muscle into it boy!” Giovanni felt the knotted rope across his back. He fell across the bar with a grunt. “Her Majesty’s navy is a place where every man pulls his weight or suffers the consequences! Now stay on that pump until I tell you otherwise.” He hissed. Then he was gone. Giovanni began pumping again, seething. He soon heard the bos’un tormenting some other unfortunate sailor. The blisters on his hands quickly reopened and his shoulders were still sore. Up and down went the bar. Two bells, then three and still they were stuck at the pump. Half way through the next bell, the pump finally went dry.
“All right boys, take a break,” said Ingram as he walked by. Giovanni and Matthews collapsed on the deck.
“'ad a rough time time of it lads?” asked Will, helping Matthews up first, then Giovanni.
“Aye, I do believe that bos’un has it in for us,” stated Matthews, hands on his knees gasping for breath.
“Ah, I don’t know ‘bout that. I think he 'ates everybody,” whispered Will, smiling.
“Men, stay off the pump for now, chips has got to rebuild it first thing in the morning,” said Murray, coming up behind them and placing a hand on Matthews’ back. “Should be pumping out a lot better than that.”
Giovanni looked around for the bos’un. He had a feeling if he stopped for a moment, he would be beaten again.
“I saw the bos’un go below,” Will stated quietly. Murray left them to themselves.
“How many bells Will?” breathed Matthews.
“Five, I think. Watch is more ‘an 'alf over.”
Giovanni left the group and sat down against the foremast. He was exhausted but his blood was boiling. Two days ago he was the privileged son of a wealthy Genoan merchant. Now he was just a landsman under the thumb of a sadistic bos’un on a cruise of unknown duration. Part of him knew he should just lay low, try to make it through as best he could and in a year or two, if he was lucky, make his way back to Genoa. He put his head in his hands. He missed his father, his mother, his two sisters, his home. He missed the freedom he always felt at sea, a desirable vocation that had now become a prison. He was angry at that, he was angry at the way he’d been treated, he was angry at the English in general for being so cruel and callous.
“You all right Bartolli?” Will came and sat down with him.
“No, I’m not. I’ve spent most of my life on ships Will, I’ve never seen one run like this. I’ve never seen a bos’un so quick to strike. I’ve never seen men taken from their homes and forced onto a ship against their will. Genoa was much more peaceful.”
“Genoa 'asn’t known the war we 'ave...desperate times, desperate measures. Without the bos’un or the captain 'forcing discipline an’ keeping all these men in line, there would be a mutiny every day, there would be no navy an'....no England. I don’t like bein' pressed any more than the next man, I’ve got a wife and chil'ren jus’ like mos' but I know that we serve the queen and England.”
“Sorry Will, I don’t feel it....I’m not English.”
“I know, t'was a bad break for you. It’s not forever, the war isn’t going to last much longer.”
“I don’t know how long I can suffer like this at their hands.”
“Aye, all of us feel that way sometimes, but don’t defy the bos’un again, Matthews told me what 'appened earlier. He’s not out fer you, but ‘e won’t take kindly to any form of defiance or what ‘e perceives as insubordination....especially from the likes of us pressed men. To ‘im, we are tough clay to be molded into seamen and if that requires the cat, ‘e won’t hesitate.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Aye, so you ‘ave. It won’t always be like this. Learn your duty, obey the orders quick like and stay out of trouble an' the cat will be far from you. And if we take a fat prize or two, there’s the money..”
“Will, I’ve commanded ships before, I’ve been at sea since...before I could walk. I know every job, every knot, I can hand, reef and steer with the best of them. I’ve known wealth...it’s waiting for me back in Genoa...my father’s waiting for me...and he’ll never know what happened to me if something goes wrong.”
“I understand.” He was quiet for a moment. “Some of us exchange letters to family, you know, in case something 'appens. I’d be 'appy to take one fer you and see it gets sent to Genoa..... Jus' need to find someone that writes Italian...”
Giovanni smiled weakly and Will elbowed him in jest.
“I’d just a soon take this leaky tub and sail to Genoa myself.”
“Keep a lid on that my boy, I know you didn’t mean nothin’ by it but some might think such words mutinous. The cat will be the least of your worries then.”
Giovanni just shook his head and put his face in his hands. Will looked at him sadly and got up. He could think of nothing more to say so he patted him on the shoulder and Giovanni soon heard him talking quietly to Matthews at the rail.
The bell woke him from his stupor. He counted...seven, his watch was nearly over. His legs were sore from sitting on the hard wood of the deck; he got up and stretched. He looked around. Will and Matthews were nearby sitting on a coil of rope. He couldn’t tell if they were asleep or not but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation so he wasn’t about to go over and see. He walked over to the water barrel and grabbed the ladle. A large hairy hand grabbed his arm as he was bringing the water up.
“An’ wot work ‘ave ye done ta deserve a drink, boy!” The voice was low and threatening. It was one of the seamen he had seen often in the bos’un’s presence. He was slightly taller than Giovanni, built like a bear and almost as hairy. His gray hair betrayed his age. His weathered face looked like it had seen many a fight and even in the dim light, his icy blue eyes were cold and mean. “Some of us gotta work this tub all watch,” he snarled, grabbing the ladle and pushing him from the barrel. “Go back to yer corner ya worthless scrub!” The man splashed his face, took a sip and put the top back on the barrel. “Don’t let me see ya anywheres near the adam’s ale tonight boy!” He tuned and left.
Giovanni backed up and went back to his spot near the mast. If it wasn’t for Will and Matthews he could easily develop a deep hatred for all Englishmen. Sure, he had seen cruel men before, the times he lived in still bred them. But Genoa was civilized, such men were the exception, here they seemed to be the rule. He looked up at the stars, past the billowing sails and the men aloft. He sighed. He had felt such pride when his father entrusted him with this mission to England, it could have brought so much prosperity to his family. But he had failed miserably. Damn English and their wars and their press and their navy. He clenched his fists in anger, glaring at the quarterdeck where the first mate in his spotless uniform had come up to get the report of the watch. The bell rang eight times, his watch was over. He saw Will and Matthews get up from their comfortable position and head to the hatch. He followed.
“Four hours of sleep my boy, then we do it again,” said Will, directing Giovanni down the hatch ahead of him. Giovanni didn’t reply. “Been rough on 'im,” he whispered to Matthews.
Giovanni made his way in the darkness to his hammock. Someone had a made a feeble attempt to clean the vomit from it but it was still damp and it reeked. He climbed in, putting his head at the other end. The close, moist air was suffocating but he was too tired to care. He was asleep in moments.
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“Bartolli, wake up!” Giovanni reached though the fog of his exhaustion to see Matthews bending over him. “Come on, you’ll miss breakfast!” The pit in Giovanni’s stomach reminded him it had been a while since he’d eaten. He crawled out of his hammock and followed Matthews to the gun deck. There were about fifty men crowded in the room that went from the fo’c’sle to the captain’s cabin in the stern. Cannons lined the sides and men were sitting on them with square plates covered with some kind of meat in gravy. A light smoke from the galley filled the room and wafted out of the gunports.
“Salt pork this morning,” said one of the men, handing him a plate. He was the one Giovanni had remembered going over the side to escape on the way in. The discolored bruise on his forehead remained from where the oar had struck. “Don’t look like much, ol’ stuff gettin’ used up but the gravy makes it edible.” He handed him a piece of hardtack to go with it. “Dip it in the gravy or some water to soften it up,” he directed, then he left to give another man his ration. Giovanni looked over at Matthews whose pork peeked out from under the gravy with green slime on the edges. Fortunately, his looked better. He dipped his hardtack in the gravy and let it soak.
“Looks worse than the dried pork we gnawed on at the end of winter back on the farm,” said Matthews, gazing at his plate. Giovanni grunted in agreement. His voyages had always been of short enough duration to have fresh supplies. And his father was known for taking good care of his ships and sailors. A shuffling in front of him took his attention from his food. A large hairy hand grabbed his salt pork.
“How’d you get such a piece, scrub?!” he demanded. It was the same surly sailor from the water barrel. “I say we trade,” he snarled, slapping a half eaten piece of green slime covered meat on his plate. He took a huge bite of Giovanni’s pork. “Mmmmm.” Giovanni glared up at him. His face hardened even more and he hit Giovanni’s plate out his his hands. He brought a large, hairy fist up in Giovanni's face. “Got a problem with trading?” Giovanni just glared at him and then reached down to pick up his plate and biscuit. “I didn’t think so.” He took another bite. “Save the good food fer men that work,” he laughed and then he was gone.
Matthews was quietly gnawing on his pork, ignoring the scene as much as he could. Giovanni bit hard into the biscuit. It crumbled in his mouth but it was a few minutes until it was soft enough to chew and swallow.
“Dugal,” came a voice from his left. Giovanni looked over to see a short, thin man, young like him with a fleshy face and deep set brown eyes. His sandy hair fell in his face. “Dugal’s his name. Bos’un’s brother-in-law. Been shipped together twice now. Shonkeys, both of ‘em. Best to stay away from ‘em as much as you can.”
Giovanni dropped his head, slowly chewing his hardtack. It was doing little to fill the pit in his stomach or undo the knot his anger had placed there. The ringing of the bell interrupted his thoughts.
“Starboard watch on deck...Now!” He recognized Ingram's voice. All the men got up and scrambled up the ladders, stuffing the last bit of food they could in their mouths or pockets. Orders were already being shouted from the quarterdeck Giovanni emerged from the hatch, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.
“Man the braces, prepare to ware ship!” Giovanni immediately noticed that the wind had shifted and they were now sailing close hauled. The breeze was still light enough not to heel the ship much so he hadn’t noticed the change below.
“Helms over! Haul up the mizzen!” Giovanni saw men working around the mizzen mast, pulling on lines while others fairly ran aloft to tie up the sail. “Ease the mainsheet!” The ship was beginning to turn.
“You men, grab the main brace and wait for the command.” Sayer was pointing at Giovanni, Matthews and another man with them.
“Over here!” directed the other man, leading them to the rail. He uncleated a thick line from the pinrail and handed it to them. “Be ready, I’ll let you know,” he directed, looking back over his broad shoulder, the muscles under his heavily tattooed arms flexing as he took up the strain.
“Let go the bowlines!” came the command. The rattling of blocks followed as sails changed their orientation to the wind. “Raise the main tack! Haul the weather braces!”
“Now!” directed the man and they hauled, pulling the line back along the deck. “Heave!” They pulled even harder. “Avast...Hold it!” he said and they stood there holding the taught line. Giovanni watched as the jib sheets were passed through and the mizzen reset. His muscles were beginning to tremble as the ship fell onto it’s new tack. “Square up!”
“Haul a little more boys,” said the man, pulling on the line. A few more yanks and he cleated it off. They all caught their breath a moment. “Now, coil this line and all the ones on the larboard side, neatly.” He gave a short demonstration and left. Giovanni and Matthews began coiling line.
“Sorry about earlier,” Matthews offered. “At breakfast, I mean.”
“Don’t concern yourself with it. It wasn’t your fault.” Giovanni knew he was on his own, he didn’t expect anyone to stand up for him. He put down another coil of line. “Some men are just cruel.”
“Yes, I would agree,” replied Matthews. He placed his coil on the pin. “I wonder, are they born that way or does some unfortunate event make them so?”
“Oh, I think it’s some defect of the brain,” replied Giovanni, smiling. Matthews chuckled.
“Having a good time boys?” Giovanni didn’t even look up, he knew who it was. “Yer work’s very sloppy..” Giovanni looked back and saw that Dugal had kicked all his neat coils of line into a tangled mess. Giovanni took a deep breath and stood up, his eyes piercing.
“Papal scum,” he muttered. “Do it again!” He shoved Giovanni roughly, causing him to trip over one of the tangled coils. He fell heavily to the deck. Dugal was laughing as Giovanni grabbed the rail and stood up. He had had enough, his honor and his person had been insulted one time too many. He grabbed a belaying pin from the pinrail and lunged at Dugal, connecting with the side of his face, stunning him. He went to swing again when a powerful hand grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was the bos’un, who hit him hard in the stomach before he could react.
“What is going on here?!” demanded Mr. Rooke in his booming voice. He had left the quarterdeck and was approaching with long strides. Giovanni was bent over, gasping from the unexpected blow, belaying pin still in his hand.
“This boy attacked Dugal with a belaying pin!” accused the bos’un.
“Aye, I was jus’ showin’ ‘im how to coil line the right way..” pleaded Dugal. Blood was flowing from below his left eye.
“Go see the surgeon about that cut Dugal,” ordered Rooke. “As for you boy, I will not tolerate this kind of behavior on this ship. One of you men always has to test the discipline aboard and I will make an example of you to make sure it does not happen again. Secure him to the grate!”
“Yes sir!” replied the bos’un enthusiastically. He and another sailor grabbed him roughly, prying the pin from his hand. They drug him across the deck while two other men set a grate up against the mast.
“Mr. Ingram!” yelled Rooke, adjusting his spotless blue coat.
“Sir?” he replied, hurrying to his side.
“Call all hands to witness punishment.”
“Yes sir!” He turned amidships. “All hands to witness punishment!”
As they tied his wrists to the grate, the rest of the crew assembled in the waist. The first mate had returned to the quarterdeck and was talking to the captain. He nodded several times and then approached the rail.
“Men,” began Littlewort in that high, shrill, grating voice of his. “Discipline and restraint are a must on a ship. Those of you who have recently joined our crew need to understand that any behavior that detracts from the smooth running of this vessel will be swiftly addressed. This man was the first. I expect him to be the last!” He nodded to the first mate.
Rooke straightened and brought a document up in front of him. “Article of War, section 22. 'If any person in the fleet shall quarrel or fight with any other person in the fleet, or use reproachful or provoking speeches or gestures, tending to make any quarrel or disturbance, he shall, upon being convicted thereof, suffer such punishment as the offense shall deserve, and a court martial shall impose.'”
“25 shall be sufficient.” stated Littlewort, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Hats off.” ordered Rooke, removing his. All the men took off any hats they were wearing and gripped them to their chests. “Twenty-five lashes! Bousun's mate, do your duty.”
“Yes sir!” replied Clay. Suddenly, he was at Giovanni’s ear. “I’ve spilt plenty of papist blood in my time, I’m going to enjoy spilling yours!” he whispered venomously. He ripped the back of Giovanni's shirt open, backed up and cracked the cat against the deck.
“Begin!” ordered Rooke. A second later the cat fell across his back. It stung horribly. After the third strike he cried out, straining at the grate. The cat began to tear at his flesh and he could feel the warm blood starting to run down his back. Clay now paused between each strike to run the cat through his huge hands to remove the blood and flesh. By the tenth he was in agony, every strike like a thousand knives digging into his body.
“Switch!” came the command from Rooke. Giovanni saw Quinn take the cat from Clay, smiling wickedly.
“Continue!” ordered Rooke and a moment later the cat hit his back with enough force to knock the wind out of him. After five more his back was in ribbons. He passed out before the twentieth. He was startled awake by the horrific stinging of salt water on his open back. He screamed. The cat fell two more times. He fell limp against the grate. He didn’t feel the next one. The salt water woke him up again. Two more strikes.
“Twenty-five sir!” called the bos’un.
“Take him below!” The cold salt water hit him again and he struggled against the lashings, writhing in agony. Two men cut him down and he collapsed on the deck. They each grabbed him under his armpits and dragged him across the smooth wood planks. They handed him down through the hatch.
“It’ll be alright Bartolli,” he heard Will say as they laid him on a piece of canvas on the deck.
He could hardly hear anything through the fog of his anguish. He passed out.
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“Giovanni, wake up..” It was a woman’s voice. He stirred slightly in the soft sheets. “It’s time to get up, there’s work to be done.” He began to roll over.....
“Aaaahhh..” He awoke suddenly, a searing pain shooting across his back. He was rudely re-acclimated to his surroundings; the hard deck, the smell of vomit, his back cut to ribbons. He moved back to his stomach, wincing in pain. Every time he thought it couldn’t get any worse.....although unless he was hanged, he figured this was the bottom.
“Bartolli, that you?” It was Matthews voice in the dark. He just grunted.
“Mate says you’re off duty for the rest of the day. Surgeon was up to look at you. Didn’t do nothin’ though. I brought you some hard tack and water from the evening meal.”
“Thank you..” he replied weakly. He felt around until his hand found a biscuit. He could feel the weevils crawling on his fingers. He shook them off and brought it to his mouth. Gnawing off a small piece, he let the saliva in his mouth soften it up.
“Capt’n says we should be arriving on our post tomorrow, next day at latest. Maybe we’ll be lucky and get a prize right off.”
Giovanni knew that was very unlikely but he grunted in agreement, the biscuit melting in his mouth. He heard the bell ring eight times.
“Starboard watch!” came the call from above. He heard the men rousing from their bunks for the night watch.
“Just rest Giovanni, I’ll check on you when I can, me an’ Will.”
Soon the larboard watch came down the steps and climbed in their hammocks. Initially, there was some whispering but the night quickly lulled them to sleep. He listened to the sound of the ship, the creaking of the wood, the bang of the blocks, the faint sound of water along the side. He was soon asleep again.
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Giovanni looked at the paper before him. The surgeon's mate had graciously provided him with paper and ink and although he’d had plenty of time to collect his thoughts, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to write. He dipped the quill and hovered over the paper, laying on his stomach on the floor, each movement of his arm sending a new wave of agony shooting through his back. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. This was his first opportunity to write to his father, to tell him what what going on, although he had his doubts about whether it would ever get there. But it was his only hope. He was comforted by the fact that there would be no one who could translate his words so he was free to express himself, which may be worth it even if the letter never reached it’s destination.
Dearest Father,
I hope my correspondence finds you and mother well. I miss you all very much. I have the unfortunate duty of reporting my abject failure in the task with which I have been entrusted. I was in England only one day when I was robbed and then ‘pressed’, which is the barbaric practice the English engage in by which they take innocent men from whatever task they are found engaged and force them to serve aboard their ships for an indefinite time, giving no regard to their circumstances or nationality. I find myself in such a situation and I have no idea how long I may be so imprisoned.
Although war is a familiar occupation to us, the way the English abuse their own makes much of the barbarity we see practiced on our enemies seem inconsequential by comparison. There appears to be little respect or consideration given to the men and they have no protection or remedy from their ill treatment.
With the exception of a few of the men who have been pressed with me, the English as a whole seem a cold, cruel, dispassionate people, hardly worthy of the civilization or enlightenment they seek to share in. While their navy is strong, it becomes so on the backs of men who have no choice but to serve. Yet the thing that astounds me is the fact that even men so abused feel a sense of duty to King and country and so serve, if not with cheerfulness, then resignation and determination. These are men who may have little or nothing to come back to, men whose wives or children may never know what happened to them, whose livelihood could be lost in their absence, yet they serve and do not revolt.
I say these things not to complain to you for although I suffer greatly, I know that you too have suffered to bring about our prosperity and I will endure my time as you have and emerge stronger. I only do so because although we have had contact with the English for many years, their real character has been laid bare before me and we must take such things into consideration in our dealings with them outside the confines of our home country. Such attitudes toward their countrymen and the culture that creates them will color all they do and we must be wary of their dealings.
I hope the war will soon draw to a close and I will be released from this prison and return to you although I am hesitant to do so in my failure. I only seek to make you proud and I’m afraid I have failed miserably. I will understand your discipline and reproof as I am confident in your affections. I hope to write again with better news.
With love to all,
Giovanni
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